


On the Grounds Where We Feel Safe

by WalkingDictionary (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Au: future, F/M, FLPR, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Injured Character, auction fic, discussion of miscarriages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 01:59:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17132915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/WalkingDictionary
Summary: After sustaining an injury during a battle, Ragnar Lothbrok suffers a fever dream that sends him to a Kattegat he doesn't recognize even if he knows the people he meets there.





	1. Cover

**Author's Note:**

> One year and two months later, this story is finally complete (or as complete as I'm going to make it).
> 
> This is written for TLM, who bid on me for the Fandom Loves Puerto Rico auction, and then patiently waited for her story even though she saw me every day (until I moved) and could have but didn't badger me about it.
> 
> Fair warning: this is not a fandom that I am active in. I have seen one half-season and it wasn't the first or second, of which this story follows more closely. There are things that I got wrong, simply because I don't know them or didn't have the energy to look them up (I tried, though, watching recaps and asking TLM for clarification).
> 
> If TLM can forgive my transgressions against her show, you can too. Do not comment just to point out something that is wrong. I already know it is.
> 
> I did my best with a show (and fandom) that I just cannot get into. Not without my friend watching with me.
> 
> That said, if you do end up liking this story, thank you. Your readership is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Title comes from _Go to War_ by Nothing More.
> 
> The story is complete and will be posted in its entirety by the end of Tuesday.

 


	2. One

~ * ~

The attack was successful even if Ragnar Lothbrok’s particular method was…devious. He had been punished for assuming to know more than the gods and currently was laid upon a bed of furs, his wounded leg lifted by two of the strongest men of the clan while another, a healer of sorts, pressed a heated blade against the bleeding hole where he’d dug out an arrowhead.

Ragnar threw his head back and howled his displeasure even as he tried to hold still to ease the process. It was necessary if he didn’t want to die of infection.

As it was, he already had fever, and his bones ached worse than just being pierced by iron.

The healer pulled back, shaking his head. Ragnar could not hear what he said, but he knew from the way that his leg was lowered, a cover thrown over him, he was not expected to live through the night.

It was life, but he could not help the anger and bitterness he felt that his gods would abandon him when he needed them most.

Well, if they were expecting him to wait around to die, then they would be waiting for a very long time indeed. Ragnar pulled himself up, swinging his injured leg off the bed. It buckled the moment his heel touched the cold ground and he followed it down, sprawling into the dirt, breathing through the pain.

He groaned in disgust and shoved upright, blinking into the sudden sun. He had been in a hut, constructed on the edge of the battlefield. Now he was kneeling in a field, the warm sun beating down on his skin, heat spreading across his bare skin.

Voices, sharp and suspicious, sounded near him, and Ragnar lumbered to his feet, wishing for his blade or a club. Anything to use for defense.

He stared at the strangely dressed people as they surrounded him. He had never seen such manner of clothing, wondering at the vibrant colors, the thin layers. Leading the group of people was a familiar face.

“Lagertha,” he murmured, uncertain if sound passed his lips, so shocked was he to recognize his wife.

Lagertha stopped too far away for him to reach, studying him with a flat expression. “Ragnar,” she finally said. “Done playing in the woods, then?”

“Your voice,” he marveled. It was as strange as the green dress she wore. “What has happened to you?”

Lagertha’s eyes widened, and she shook her head slowly. “I could ask the same of you, Ragnar.”

“But I have not changed.”

“You have,” Lagertha said, sharply. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I would not dream of it, wife,” Ragnar told her, bowing deeply to her. She scoffed and turned on her heel, marching away from him.

He made to follow her, but his leg buckled under his weight and sent him sprawling again. He groaned, in annoyance, in pain, kicking his good leg at the ground. Ahead of him, Lagertha paused.

“You are hurt?” she asked.

He nodded. “Most gravely.” He rolled onto his back, staring up at a sky so blue he wondered if he was not in Valhalla after all.

Lagertha stared down at him, her head blocking the sun so she looked as if her head was on fire. Ragnar squinted up at her, reading her deceptively blank face.

Years had taught him that when Lagertha studied something with no words, she was worried, mind spinning through the different actions she might have to take. She was a great warrior and a better commander.

Right now, though, he did not see the same leadership he had grown to recognize. Instead, Lagertha looked afraid even if she was still hiding it well.

“Well then,” she finally said. “What’s wrong with you?”

“A poisoned arrow,” Ragnar said, pointing down at his barely lanced wound. “Gained in battle.”

“Battle for what?” Lagertha demanded, and Ragnar almost heard her voice under the strangeness of her voice.

“A raid for more land,” he explained. “For farming. To raise crops to help Kattegat and her people.”

Lagertha looked over her shoulder, shaking her head at something before focusing back Ragnar. “Kattegat doesn’t need battles,” she said, “or farms. We have everything we need.”

Ragnar looked where she was pointing. The dwellings looked as odd as the clothing.

“Why do you stack your homes?” he asked. “Does this not create problems with weight?”

“It doesn’t,” Lagertha said, and Ragnar waited for more explanation that did not come.

“Why?” he prompted. If he could learn the secrets of stacking dwellings, he could take that knowledge and use it to increase the farmland of Kattegat, although, looking around, he had to admit there was not much land left for farming. Much of it had been covered with a grey surface that resembled a stone road.

There were a few bushes and other vegetation around the building but it looked ornamental instead of practical.

“How do you have everything you need if you do not even have a patch of ground for food?” he demanded, turning on Lagertha. She startled, covering it quickly by glaring down at him.

“We have no need. There is an _Irma_ just down the road. Where would we put a garden anyway?”

“A crop, a field,” Ragnar said. “Surely there is fertile land here?” The ground he was still lying on was green, lush and soft. “Why not here?” He sat up, holding his leg still as he moved. He grabbed at Lagertha’s hand, ignoring the way she jerked under his touch. “Why rely on something that could fail when you can care for yourself?”

Lagertha pulled away. “In all the time it’s been here, _Irma_ has never failed. On the other hand, I cannot get my plants to grow. I would rather have a sure thing than risk it all on something that cannot work.”

Ragnar laughed. “There is the Lagertha I know,” he said. She huffed out a breath.

“Are they coming?” she demanded.

“I called them,” a new, familiar voice replied, and Ragnar twisted around to stare at Floki. He had a strange item pressed to his ear and kept shooting worried glances at Lagertha and Ragnar. “They said ten minutes. That was nearly seven minutes ago. They should be here soon.”

“Who?” Ragnar demanded. He tried to stand but his leg buckled yet again and he cursed it loudly.

“Silence,” Lagertha said sharply. “There are children here who do not need to learn those words.”

“Children?” Ragnar looked past Floki and saw only familiar faces starting back at him. Forefront was his son Bjorn. “Why are you all dressed strangely? Why is Kattegat a tower of buildings? Is this part of the fever dream?”

“If you like,” Floki said, soothingly. “This is all part of a dream. When you wake up, everything will be back to normal.”

Ragnar studied his old friend, finding him to be speaking truth. He lied back down again, motioning for Lagertha to come closer. When she did, he smiled at her. “I shall see you again, wife.”

“Of course,” Lagertha replied, “husband.” Her pause settled thickly between her words, and Ragnar found it to be less truthful than Floki’s words. He was beyond exhaustion and needed rest, but it was not safe, and even as his eyes closed of their own volition, he tried to sharpen his ears, to hear the murmurings between his wife and friend, but he did not know what ‘ambulance’ or ‘paramedic’ meant, and he fell asleep before he could demand explanations.

~ * ~


	3. Two

~ * ~

When he woke up, he was in an even stranger place than before.

He had hoped to wake up back in Kattegat, the real Kattegat, but instead he was here in a cold room on an uncomfortable surface. His clothing, what little he had been wearing, had been stolen, replaced with a thin tunic and britches that did nothing to protect from the cold of the room.

His head was thick, full of noisy nothing rattling around in his skull, beating with the same pace as his heart.

This was an attack on his person, surely as if he had walked into battle.

Which reminded him of his leg. He tried to move it and was concerned when he couldn’t feel it.

He had known, of course, that cutting it off was an option, and would likely save his life, but he thought he had been already on death’s hearth, just waiting for the gods to open their arms for him to join them in Valhalla.

As he worked a hand down to touch his thigh, an animal of a most peculiar sort squawked right by his ear, startling him.

He turned to scare it off, but it was nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was hiding behind the large block set next to his bed?

The block let out the same noise as the animal, and Ragnar studied it with fascination. The front of the block was smooth, like the glass of the Christians’ buildings, but there was a river trapped beneath it. Green waves ebbed across the glass. He traced one with a finger, and when the wave peaked, the squawk sounded again.

“Enjoying the heart monitor?” someone said, and Ragnar twisted himself around to see an unfamiliar face staring at him in curiosity.

“Heart monitor?” Ragnar pressed the palm of his hand over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart. On a particularly loud beat, the ‘heart monitor’ let out a chirp.

“The heart monitor obviously monitors your heart beat. It lets us know if something out of the ordinary is happening so that we can respond to it.”

“How does it do that?” Ragnar scratched at a patch of cloth stuck to his chest.

The woman laughed at him. “That’s how,” she said, pointing. “That’s called an electrode, and it’s attached with adhesive.” She winced suddenly, and Ragnar understood when he tried pulling off the ‘electrode.’

“What is this?” he demanded, tugging at it sharply despite the way it was pulling the hairs from his chest. The pain was nothing he could not deal with, and he wanted the ‘electrode’ off him immediately.

“Please leave that alone,” she said, hand covering his as she pressed the edges down. “It’s supposed to help you.”

 “How does this help me?”

“It monitors your heart rate in case something goes wrong.”

“And what about my leg? What have you done to it?”

“We haven’t done anything to your leg,” she said. “We’ve only just sedated you. The doctor has looked at you and decided that you might need to have surgery in a couple of hours. Then you’ll be moved to recovery. It’s simple really. What were you doing though? Reenacting a battle scene?”

Ragnar drew himself up as best he could with indignant rage. “I was not playing,” he sneered at her. “I was truly in battle. I was victorious even if I took injury.”

“Right. Well. I just need to collect some information from you before I can let you go back to sleep.”

“I shall not sleep again. This world is strange and I do not desire to make myself vulnerable again.”

“Vulnerable or not, your body needs rest to aid in its recovery. Are you sure you want to delay your recovery, maybe make yourself even more vulnerable down the road?”

“Are you planning to attack me?” Ragnar asked, trusting her to answer him honestly.

“No one is going to attack you here,” she said. He could tell she was annoyed by the way she barely restrained from rolling her eyes at him. He would have taken affront, but he was coming to the realization that this was a healer’s hut, and battle had no place in here.

He decided he would humor her and sleep—only for a little while though. She was right that he needed his strength. It was heartening to hear that he was going to be put into recovery after his sleep though, so he could only trust that she was truly not planning to betray him.

“Now, for those questions, Mr. Lothbrok. What is your birthdate?”

Ragnar frowned at her. “Why do you need the day of my birth?” he asked, suspicious again.

She sighed. “It is a simple question,” she explained. Empty words that held no meaning for him. Frustrated now, she glared at him. “It helps me determine your age.”

“Old enough.” He returned his most ferocious glare and she faltered.

“Fine. Unknown. Country of origin?”

“Kattegat,” he answered with no hesitation. “I am its king.”

“Kattegat has no king. Country of origin.”

They glared at each other again before she threw a hand up and muttered, “Unknown.”

“Tell me, Mr. Lothbrok.”

“Ragnar Lothbrok,” he corrected belatedly.

She ignored him. “What do you know about yourself?”

“I know many things,” he said. “None of which I shall tell you.”

“Very well, Mr. Lothbrok. I will see you after your surgery.”

Satisfied that she would leave him alone now, Ragnar returned to prying off the ‘electrodes.’ He managed to take most of them off before the monitor-rock beside the bed startled to life and began screaming with a shrillness that forced Ragnar to cover his ears for fear of losing his hearing.

Several people entered the room, none of them armed.

Another woman, this one short where the other was tall, strode up to the rock and jerked something from it. It fell silent with a fading wail.

“See?” she said. “He’s clearly fine.” To him she said, “You can’t be messing about with that, eh? It’s to help the others see how you’re doing without having to constantly be in your room, bugging you about it.”

“Your accent,” he said, “your words. Why do I understand them? They are not the Christians’ words that I am used to.”

“That’s because we’re speaking English,” she said. “I’m from Scotland myself, but I find it pleasant to be here. Where are you from?”

“I hail from Kattegat.”

A look of understanding passed over her features. “That’s wonderful. I’ll get that filled in right away. You just rest. They’re going to put some new electrodes on you. Leave these ones on, yeah? I’ll try to pop in if my shift hasn’t ended before your surgery.”

Ragnar nodded. She had the same air that Lagertha had, commanding and regal. She would make a fine queen for someone, and he half-wished he could be her king, but her words were as confusing as the rest of this world, and he did not wish to entangle himself before he fully understood whether he would be raising a sword or not.

“This surgery,” he called to her before she could leave, “this will heal my leg, yes?”

“Yes.”

He nodded sharply, allowing the other people, two women and a man, to wipe his chest with a cold cloth, dry it roughly, and attach more of the electrodes. Once they were satisfied that he was covered in the circular patches and that he was not going to pull them off again, the man returned the monitor to its state of chirping.

“Are you in any pain?” one of the women asked, and Ragnar shook his head. He would not tell them even if he was, too certain that they would give him something that would make him sleep quickly.

He would wait for the surgery and remain aware. He could hold still through most any pain. He would not allow them to make him vulnerable again. More vulnerable than he was currently anyway.

“If you need anything, just press the button,” the second woman said, and then all four of them took their leave.

Ragnar turned onto his side and studied the monitor, reaching up to trace the waves and their spikes. It seemed settled, and the waves slowed until he dropped his hand, drifting into sleep even though he had meant not to.

~ * ~


	4. Three

~ * ~

He woke briefly when someone loomed over him, and he barely had time to grasp their arm before he was asleep again.

When he woke properly, his head was stuffed as if he had caught illness and his throat hurt from the parched state of it.

His leg felt thick, pain radiating from it, but at least he could feel it this time.

It took a long time, but he was finally able to pry his eyes open, blinking blearily into the brightness of the room. It was still far too cold, and he was still in those thin rags not fit for a beggar, but the room had changed. The monitor was still by the bed, and this bed was no more comfortable than the one he had been on previously, and the waves and crests seemed calm enough.

Ragnar pulled himself to a sitting position and then startled when he realized Lagertha was asleep in a chair in the corner of the room.

“Lagertha?” he called softly.

She jerked awake, one hand going to wipe at her mouth while she raised the other, a smooth rock clutched tight in her palm.

“Ragnar,” she said roughly. “You’re awake. Good.”

“Why is it good?” Ragnar stared her down. She met his gaze and held it.

“I was beginning to think that you had changed, husband,” she said. “Now that I know you aren’t, we can continue.”

“But you do think that I am changed,” Ragnar realized. “What is this ‘continue’ that you speak of?”

“Our marriage.”

Ragnar laughed. “Our marriage? Why would we need to continue it?”

Lagertha finally dropped her eyes. “Because I’ve been thinking about whether or not I wanted to divorce you.”

At first Ragnar was not certain what it was that he felt. Numbness, maybe, as if he had fallen through the ice into a cold river. Then, white hot anger rushed through his body. “Divorce?” he sneered. “Why? Was I not man enough for you?”

Lagertha drew herself up, her anger making her appear taller than Ragnar stood even though she was head and shoulders shorter. It was made more impressive since he was still on the bed. “No,” she said coldly. “You were not.” She marched to the door and threw it open. Before she stepped through, her shoulders dropped. “Or perhaps I wasn’t woman enough,” she whispered. “You cheated on me. Remember that.”

She did not slam the door behind her, but it felt as if she had. Ragnar stared after her. Cheat? Like cheating death?

It was not unfavorable to marry again while with one’s first wife.

Lagertha was not correct in her assessment of him. He had not ‘cheated’ on her.

Perhaps that was why he was in this strange land though. He was beginning to think that the gods had a sense of humor and wished to test him by making everyone familiar and yet not.

“I will play your game,” he told them, whichever ones happened to be listening anyway. “I will win your game and return to my true people. You shall see. Your trial shall only help me.”

The gods did not respond, but Ragnar was not expecting them to. They had their own ways of appearing, and if he looked for them, they would not come. No, it was better to let them come to him of their own volition. For now, he would rest, not sleep, and gain strength.

The monitor rock chirped as if in agreement, and Ragnar patted it as he would a dog.

~ * ~

When he woke up again, snorting awake to find that he had drooled all down his chin, Lagertha had returned. She threw a garment at him, a shirt much like what she wore.

“Put it on,” she commanded. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“My leg?” he said, pulling off the thin material of the tunic and trading it for the warmer tunic she had given him.

A pair of stiff pants hit his face.

“Put those on too.” Lagertha studied him as he struggled to stick his injured leg through the top. She did not scoff or roll her eyes, instead, she stooped by the bed and helped him straighten his legs so that she could tug the material up over his hips.

She fastened the round holder and jerked up the metal threads.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find any shoes for you so you’ll have to go barefoot, but the car isn’t far, so you should be okay. And we can always steal a wheelchair.”

“Is the car as a carriage?”

“In a way, yes.” Lagertha helped him stand and supported his weight as he limped toward the door. “This isn’t going to work. Stay here.”

“Why are we moving now? Have the Christians found us?”

Lagertha ignored him and hurried away. Ragnar frowned. He realized that he could not hear the steady chirp of the monitor and glanced back to check on it only to find the waves gone, the glass blank.

“Hurry up,” Lagertha said behind him, and he turned back to see that she had found a chair with two large wheels on either side of it and two smaller wheels at the front. It looked unsteady, but Lagertha pushed him into it and started moving.

The chair was sturdier than it appeared, and in short time, they were in front of a metal door.

“Elevator,” Lagertha said to his puzzled glance. “It helps us get to the ground without having to take the stairs.”

“It is a pulley system, yes?” Ragnar thought he could hear the cable straining as they entered the small room behind the door.

“Yes.”

Ragnar braced himself for the lurch and was surprised when it was not as sharp as he was expecting.

The ride down was nearly pleasant, even if Lagertha kept glancing about worriedly.

Outside the building, Lagertha wheeled Ragnar toward a gleaming metal carriage drawn by unseen horses. Floki was inside the carriage, and he scrambled out, helping Lagertha to transfer Ragnar to the back of the horse.

It was comfortable. Certainly more comfortable than the bed he had spent the last day on.

“Back to Kattegat?” Floki asked Lagertha and she nodded.

“Take the long way round,” she advised, glancing back at Ragnar. “I don’t think he wants to see Northumbria or Wessex.”

Ragnar sat up. “Northumbria?” he asked. “You can travel there quickly?”

Floki and Lagertha exchanged a look. “Yes,” Lagertha said. “We can. Do you want to go there?”

“I would very much like to see Althestan.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Floki asked. “Ragnar, you and he did not part on the best of terms when you saw him last.”

“All the more reason to make amends,” Ragnar said. “Just take me to him. Please.”

Lagertha snorted. “The great Ragnar Lothbrok says please, does he? He wants to see his friend with whom he’s had a falling out but not a mention of his son.”

“I told you,” Floki said. “This is not the right Ragnar. I think—”

“I know what you think,” Lagertha interrupted him. “I don’t need to hear it again, Floki. Just drive.” To Ragnar she said, “We can only stay for a little bit at Northumbria. If Athelstan is in, we’ll see him. If he isn’t, we’ll leave a message for him to call us.”

“Do you not like Athelstan?” Ragnar asked Floki.

Floki shrugged, face blank. “He is fine enough. A little heavy handed with all the soul searching he does.” He shrugged again. “You’ll see what I mean.”

~ * ~


	5. Four

~ * ~

Ragnar did see what Floki meant when they stopped the carriage in front of a structure similar to what Lagertha had called Kattegat and Athelstan was outside, his cross across his knees as he mumbled a prayer, speaking to his god.

Athelstan gained his feet as Ragnar waited for Lagertha and Floki to help him back into the wheeled chair.

“Ragnar!” he called. “How are you, friend?”

“I am recovering,” Ragnar answered honestly.

Athelstan looked to Lagertha.

“He’s injured his leg doing god knows what. The doctors wanted to put a pin in, but the first x-rays showed that was unnecessary. Apparently, my husband went to a reenactment of the Viking age.”

Athelstan nodded, offering his hand to Ragnar. “Must you always be filled with such violence?” he asked softly, eyes kind as they roamed over Ragnar. It was hard to believe that they had a falling out, unless Ragnar had become tired of Athelstan’s insistence upon fealty to his god.

“Violence is not what we do,” Ragnar said. “I have explained this to you before. Violent is what you Christians call us when your own religion has killed thousands.”

“He speaks in riddles,” Lagertha said. “He is addled. I think he got a blow to the head no one knew about.”

“Shouldn’t you take him back to the hospital if that’s the case?” Athelstan looked from Lagertha to Floki. “Surely he shouldn’t be made to suffer like this?”

“Do you really think he’s suffering?” Lagertha pointed at Ragnar. “He’s pleased with himself. He has successfully mitigated our divorce by pretending he’s still stuck in the Vikings age.”

“I am a northman,” Ragnar said, tired of the way they spoke above his head, as if he was not present. “I am not from an age. I am from Kattegat.”

“Of course,” Lagertha said, her voice soothing. Ragnar curled his lip at her, aware that she was trying to appease him for some reason.

“I am sorry that this has happened, but shouldn’t he be in hospital?” Athelstan looked at Ragnar sadly.

“I am fine,” Ragnar said, standing up. He limped heavily to the low wall where Athelstan had been sitting before they had arrived and settled himself on it. “See? Fine.”

“You aren’t though,” Athelstan said, sitting next to him. He raised his cross to hang from his neck again. “You are hurt. You should be in the hospital where you can be cared for.”

“With the monitor?” Ragnar asked. “It did nothing for me.”

“With the doctors and the medicine. What’s happened to your leg?”

“It was injured in battle.”

“During your reenactment?”

“I do not reenact battles.”

“Then what battle?” Athelstan clutched his cross. “A real one?”

“What other kind is there?”

“You should be in the hospital now,” Athelstan cried. “Why have you let them break you out? Your wife, your friend took you out before you were ready. You need to go back immediately.”

“I am not going back to the hospital,” Ragnar said firmly. “What more can they do for me?” He slapped at his knee, staring at Athelstan as he winced in sympathy. “No pain,” he lied. “Good as new and ready for more battles.”

“Please don’t,” Athelstan begged. “As your friend, Ragnar, I advise you, wait until you are fully healed. The battles can wait. Spend time with your family, show Lagertha that this wasn’t just a ploy to get out of the divorce. Show her you really care. And if I may, stay as far away from Aslaug as you can possibly.”

“Who is Aslaug?” Ragnar asked, studying his “friend.” Athelstan frowned at him, lifting his cross to his mouth so he could kiss it.

“I shouldn’t say,” he finally said, and Ragnar snorted at him. “Really. If someone comes to you with a message from Aslaug, turn it away. You have Lagertha. You have your son.”

“And what of my daughter?” Ragnar watched the crease between Athelstan’s brow grow.

“You told me she died of disease when she was young,” he said. “When the virulent strain of flu came down. I myself was taken ill and was unable to help. For that, I still feel responsible.”

“Why? Did you infect my daughter?”

“No,” Athelstan said. “That would have been someone at her school.”

“And was this person held responsible?”

“No,” Athelstan said. “They died too.” He kissed his cross again before slipping off the wall. “I think you should go back to the hospital, but I am not going to make you. You are insistent that you are all right. Perhaps later you will finally admit you aren’t. When that time comes, I shall be here for you. Have you still got my number?”

“What number? Three?”

“No, my cell phone number.”

“Oh, that, yes. I do have it still.”

“You are such a liar,” Athelstan said. He sighed, reaching down to grab a small black bag from which he withdrew a stack of papers and a strange writing contraption. He used it to write his number which he handed to Ragnar. “Don’t lose it this time,” he said. “I will always come when you call. Please call me.”

“Yes.” Ragnar crumpled the paper in his fist. As soon as he was alone with Lagertha, he needed to ask her about Athelstan’s words. So many of them were as strange as this world and there was only so long that he could let his courage cover how lost and alone he felt. Athelstan was still a religious man, so that had not changed. But the way Floki studied him with silence made him feel that perhaps it was not this world that was out of the ordinary but he himself.

Athelstan helped him off the wall and back to the wheelchair. Ragnar tried not to sag into it gratefully, but the relief he felt at not having to stand on his leg was palpable.

Lagertha carefully pushed him back toward Floki’s metal carriage.

“No,” he stopped her, “I do not wish to return to the—”

“Vehicle,” Floki supplied helpfully.

“It is a beautiful day out, is it not? Can we walk?”

“For a little while perhaps,” Lagertha agreed. “Floki, go ahead. We’ll catch up. If Ragnar changes his mind, I will call you. Okay?”

Floki nodded, but it was obvious that he did not want to leave them in front of Northumbria.

Normally, Ragnar would agree with that sentiment. He had no desire to be stranded in his enemy’s land, but glancing back at where Athelstan was still standing, watching them, Ragnar felt in his bones that this Northumbria was not an enemy. A rival, perhaps, but not an enemy and certainly not a land to be raided for its wealth.

If anything, the building behind Athelstan looked more worn and damaged than the building Lagertha had called Kattegat.

“Shall we?” Lagertha asked, and Ragnar nodded, once last look toward the Christian.

“Are we really getting divorced?” he found himself asking, and Lagertha’s face set into a stony mask.

“Yes,” she said simply and shoved the wheeled chair forward. “And it’s your fault.”

~ * ~


	6. Five

~ * ~

Ragnar waited until Floki and Lagertha were occupied with a battle of PTA or something similar before he pushed the wheels of his chair and found his son’s room.

Detailed paintings adorned the walls, and Ragnar studied them, seeing as many of Bjorn, Gyda, Lagertha, and himself, all dressed in the otherworldly garb that everyone wore here, as there were of various other people.

Bjorn was on the bed, a contraption wrapped about his head. He glared at Ragnar before taking in the wheelchair and softening his gaze.

“Father,” he said.

“Son,” Ragnar returned.

“Are you back to stay?”

“I do not know,” Ragnar said. “Would not that be up to your mother?”

Bjorn nodded. He removed one of the things in his ear and offered it to Ragnar. “Do you want to listen?”

“Yes.” Ragnar took the thing and set it in his ear. Immediately his ear hurt with the sound being directed into it, but it was pleasing to hear bards singing. It was a strange delight and one he did not mind, especially once Bjorn fiddled with a small rectangle in his hands and the sound dropped to a less ear-aching volume.

“How is it done?” he asked, and Bjorn shrugged. “Do the gods trap bards in this box to play for you whenever you wish?”

Bjorn laughed. “No, I downloaded the song and put it on here. The songs play because this is a music player. Better than your clunky Walkmans and CD players, eh?”

Ragnar nodded even though he had no idea what Bjorn was talking about. He was finding it easier to ignore the oddities his family and friends kept talking about. Lagertha had not wanted to talk on the rest of their journey, and so Ragnar had Athelstan’s words and now Bjorn’s words to add to the collection of information he needed to learn.

Lagertha knocked on the door frame. “Having fun?” she asked, smiling at Bjorn. Their son nodded, taking back the ear piece and taking out his own. He set the contraption and rectangle aside and then stood up.

Fourteen years old and small for his age. Somethings had not changed then. No matter. Ragnar could see the strength in his son’s shoulders. The boy would grow, stronger even than Ragnar. He would earn the title of Lothbrok, as Ragnar had, and wear it proudly.

“I have a meeting tonight.” Lagertha looked to Bjorn. “Do you want Floki to stay with you or do you think you will be okay on your own?”

“I’ll have Dad, won’t I?” Bjorn asked. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. Have fun at your meeting.”

Lagertha turned to Ragnar. “There is a casserole in the fridge. Bjorn knows how to heat it up. Let him do it.”

Ragnar nodded. He was not stupid enough to think he would be able to cook. If anything, he was willing to let his son do it and watch him so that he could learn without having to reveal that he could not provide for himself here. The gods surely were testing him.

Well, they may not have realized that Ragnar would have allies wherever he turned.

The fact that everyone he had encountered had been helpful in some way, even as they claimed they had reason not to, was proof that the gods may have decided a trial was in order, but they still favored Ragnar.

He smiled at Lagertha. “Go to your meeting, we will be oh-kay.”

Bjorn smiled broadly. “See, Mum? We will be more than fine.” He rolled his eyes, and Ragnar lifted an eyebrow at the cheek of it. “It’s not like we’re going to burn the house down.”

“You can trust us,” Ragnar added, letting his smile turn to mischievous and beguiling. It was the smile that had won him Lagertha many years ago, and he was pleased to see that it still worked on her even if she glared at him in warning.

“See that I still have a home to return to,” she pointed at both of them, “or the extent of my wrath shall be known.”

Bjorn shuddered as he waved her away. “I need to practice my shot. Can you help me, Dad?”

Archery? Ragnar was proud already. “Yes,” he agreed, quickly looking to Lagertha to see her reaction. She was smiling. So, archery for their son was a good activity. Ragnar could use that to remain in Lagertha’s graces.

It was more than a surprise when Bjorn dropped a sphere into his lap and grabbed the back of the chair.

“Don’t go too hard on your father,” Lagertha warned as she collected a bag that she hefted onto her shoulder. She shook a ring of keys at them and blew a kiss as she left.

“You practice archery with this?” Ragnar said once they were alone, Floki having left sometime before Lagertha.

“No,” Bjorn laughed, “basketball. I’m going to be on the team this year.”

Ragnar rolled the sphere in his lap. “It is a noble endeavor?”

“I think so.” Bjorn took the ball back. “Come on. There’s a court behind the apartments.”

Ragnar let his son push him outside.

“Why is this land not used for crops?” he asked as they passed metal fences with hard ground. “The wasted space could feed the whole population of Kattegat.”

Bjorn glanced back at the building. “Why should we? There is plenty of other land that is used for farming. If I had to spend all my time tending a garden, I wouldn’t be top student in my grade. Nor would I be as good at basketball as I am.”

“And what does basketball do for you?”

“Olympics. A scholarship to America with a chance to play in the NBA. I can make it big if I’m good enough.”

“And are you?”

“Not yet. But I will be. With plenty of practice and hard work, I can make it. I know I can. You and Mum haven’t raised a quitter.”

Bjorn set Ragnar so that he was looking at a pole topped with wide, flat board, and a ring strung with rope. Then, he began bouncing the ball. “I have to work on my free throws right now,” he explained, standing on a line in front of the rope basket.

Ragnar settled into the chair, watching his son, all of fourteen, bounce the ball, square up, and throw the ball through the hoop.

“Do you want me to retrieve the ball for you?”he asked after Bjorn made ten shots in a row and had to run to catch the ball after each one.

“That would be nice, thanks, Dad.”

Ragnar used the chair to run down the ball after every errant bounce, handing it off to his son and watching the form he used. If it were a bow and arrow, Ragnar thought it would be perfect. Even as the sunlight faded, Bjorn kept throwing up shots.

It was not until it was impossible to make out the hoop that Bjorn handed the ball to Ragnar and wheeled him back to the building.

Lagertha was not back yet, so Bjorn washed his hands and turned on the oven. Ragnar watched him as he pulled a pan from another rectangle, this one large where the music player was small.

“Why is everything rectangular?” he asked.

“Geometric shapes,” Bjorn replied distractedly. “It fits better, I suppose, and it’s easier to put things where they go. I mean, have you ever tried to pack a circular box? It’s no fun.”

“What does fun have to do with it? If you have a circular box, you pack a circular box. What does this rectangle do?”

Bjorn looked at him with a strange expression. “It’s a fridge—a refrigerator. It keeps food cold so that it doesn’t go bad.”

Ragnar studied it, leaning out of the chair to touch the handle. Something like this would be wonderful to have in the real Kattegat. The amount of food they could save would make a difference during the warm months.

Illness would spread less easily if his people were well-fed.

“How does it work?” he asked his son.

Bjorn shrugged. “It just does. I think it has something to do with coolant and electricity.” The curious look came over his face again. “Why do you not know these things?” he asked. “Time was you would have given me these answers when I asked you.”

“I have lost my mind,” Ragnar lied.

Bjorn’s look morphed into worry. “You’re going crazy?” he asked.

“My memory,” Ragnar amended. “There are things I cannot recall at the moment.”

“Like refrigerators?”

“Yes.”

The oven chirped, and Bjorn threw the pan into it. “Look, I won’t tell Mum that you’re concussed if you don’t want me to, but I want something in return.”

“Bargaining?”

“Bargaining.”

Ragnar grinned. “Very well. What is it you wish to trade?”

“I want the car,” Bjorn said, eyes shifting sideways. Ragnar narrowed his eyes at him. “I want to be able to drive myself to my camp every day next week.”

“Are you even able to drive?” Ragnar asked.

“Yes,” Bjorn lied.

“If you can find a horse here—” somehow Ragnar did not think his son would have the luck of the gods on his side—“then you can drive to camp.”

“A horse?”

Ragnar nodded. “A horse.”

Bjorn sighed. “You can’t re-bargain,” he complained. “Where am I supposed to get a horse? Never mind. I’ll just tell Mum about your concussion.”

“Go ahead. If she wanted me to remain in hospital, she would have left me there.” Ragnar leveraged himself out of the chair so that he could storm away. Of course, it would have been better had his leg not nearly buckled as he passed Bjorn, but at least he did not fall on his face.

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” his son chastised him, helping him back to the chair. “Look, supper will be done in about thirty minutes. Mum should be back by then. Just stay still and don’t hurt yourself further. If I have to, I’ll call Floki.”

With the way his friend had studied him, Ragnar would prefer it not coming to that if he could help it.

He would rather Bjorn call Athelstan. At least, even if he was deeply religious in this incarnation, his friend would not study him with the same level gaze that hid a spinning mind.

Floki did not trust Ragnar, and at this time, Ragnar did not trust him either.

Athelstan was predictable. Floki was not.

Bjorn had answered Ragnar’s questions even if he had that confused look turning his face, which made him ask his next question: “Do you know who Aslaug is?”

Bjorn’s face closed off. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“And why is that?”

Bjorn stubbornly shook his head. He kicked the basketball out of the kitchen and stormed after it, leaving Ragnar stuck in the kitchen.

He waited long minutes before his son returned, his face stormy and tear-stained. “You cheated on Mum with her. Mum found out. You’ve been fighting for forever about getting a divorce. I hate that home-wrecking bitch. I don’t ever want to talk about her again.”

Ragnar grabbed Bjorn by his shirt and jerked him forward. “I would not do that to your mother, not unless there was just cause.”

“Like what?” Bjorn spit. “Like that you’re in love and that it’s okay for you to cheat on your wife just because some floozy bats her eyes at you and makes you feel good?” He drew back enough to spit at Ragnar. “Mum shouldn’t have let you back in. I don’t care if your memory is gone. You’re still a worm.”

Ragnar’s fingers slackened enough that Bjorn could pull free. He expected his son to stomp away again, but Bjorn stood still, defiant.

“Food’s done,” Bjorn said a moment later when a chirping, not unlike the heart monitor’s death wail started. He pulled the pan from the oven and set it atop it, stopping the chirping as well. “Let it cool for about ten or fifteen minutes before you try eating it. Save some for Mum.”

He disappeared into his room, the door slammed behind him.

Ragnar waited for nearly twenty minutes, but Bjorn did not come back. Finally, hunger won out, and he dug into the food.

It was a mix of things, vegetables, meat, and sauces. It was good, warm enough to eat comfortably. He managed two large helpings, leaving enough in the pan for Bjorn and Lagertha, and then wheeled himself to a little room with a seat made of pottery.

It was a chamber pot for certain.

Ragnar did his business quickly, standing to aim his stream into the bowl. After, he replaced the lid and returned to the kitchen.

Lagertha had come in while he was occupied, and she stared at him.

“Did you wash your hands?” she asked.

“No,” he said, showing them to her. “They are clean.”

“No, they’re not. If you don’t want to spread disease, you’ll go back and wash them.”

He thought of his daughter and wondered if washing hands would have saved her. Lagertha went to the chamber pot room with him, turning a handle on the metal pipes by a pottery basin. She handed him a bar that foamed as he ran it over his hands. Once he had lathered and rinsed, she shut off the pipes and handed him a towel.

“Would this have saved Gyda?” he asked once they were back in the kitchen again, Lagertha eating out of a porcelain bowl.

“Perhaps at first,” Lagertha said. “But by the time we realized how severe it was, there was no way to help her.”

She set aside her food, leaning over the counter. “I miss her,” she admitted quietly. “I feel like I failed her, and when you found comfort in someone else’s arms, I…I hated you then.”

“I left you in your time of need?” Ragnar asked. Either Aslaug was more absolutely stunning or Ragnar was selfish.

Or both.

Either way, that Ragnar, and he was beginning to think there were two of each of them, was not the same man he was.

He stood up, limping heavily to Lagertha. He set a hand on her shoulder, unsure if she would accept his touch.

She turned to face him, tears streaking down her face. She nodded sharply, and threw herself into his arms.

“Please don’t leave me,” she whispered against his neck.

Ragnar held her as tight as she clung to him.

He did not want to lose Lagertha no matter where he was. If it was through his own folly, he would have to accept it. As long as it was not him, though, he would not have to sacrifice his happiness.

He decided then, he would find Aslaug and tell her to leave him alone. Dressed in this Ragnar’s clothing, there was no difference. She would not be able to tell them apart, and when—or if—he was returned to his Kattegat, then she would continue to leave this Lagertha’s Ragnar alone.

He just needed someone to take him to Aslaug. Bjorn and Lagertha were not options. Floki was possible, but Athelstan was the most likely to give him a proper answer and to actually take him to her if he explained his intentions.

“Bjorn has yet to eat tonight,” he told Lagertha. “Should we make him?”

She shook her head. “He will come for food if he gets hungry. He is a growing boy so I haven’t limited him to just mealtimes. If he needs food more often, he knows he can seek it out. Right now, I’d like to take you to bed, husband.”

As much as Ragnar knew he would enjoy lying with his wife, he did not think it would be advisable. Not the least of which was because he was not actually her husband. Did it count as “cheating” if he was the same person as her husband?

“Perhaps we should not,” he began, and Lagertha pressed her finger to his lips.

“I don’t want sex,” she said, “not with your leg. I just want you to hold me. I’ve been alone for too long. I just need the companionship.”

Lagertha covered the pan and stuck it back in the refrigerator. Then, she took Ragnar’s hand and led him back to her bedroom.

He lied on the bed, swinging his leg up with a quiet grunt. Lagertha unbound her hair, shaking it so that it spread out like a cloak of gold. She shut off the daylight trapped inside the jar stuck to the ceiling and climbed onto the bed next to him.

It was comfortable. Softer than even a pile of furs, and Ragnar found he could not stay awake as Lagertha curled around him, her head on his chest, an arm tucked around his waist.

Unlike at the hospital, he did not feel the need to stay vigilant and actually enjoyed the sensation of drifting off listening to Lagertha’s easy breathing.

~ * ~


	7. Six

~ * ~

He woke when Lagertha sat on the bed.

“I have to visit with Floki,” she explained as she wound her hair up again. She was damp, as if she had stepped out into rain, but Ragnar could not hear any water running. Her perfume reminded him of a field of flowers, and he drew her down to smell at her hair.

She laughed, pushing herself upright. “I’ll be back. Floki and I have most of it done. We just need to delegate duties. It should take maybe an hour. Then I’ll be back and we can have an outing.”

“Yes,” Ragnar agreed.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Wonderful. Have Bjorn help you pack a lunch. I already brought your wheelchair here if you need it.”

Ragnar eyed it with distaste. If his leg could hold his weight, then he would not need the chair anymore. He especially did not want to take it with him when he went to visit Athelstan.

Northumbria was a short distance from Kattegat. But it was still a distance away. Perhaps it would be wise to take the chair with him.

He could ask Athelstan where Aslaug lived and if it would be best to present as a whole and healed man or as a man broken by the betrayal he had suffered unto his family.

Lagertha kissed him again, and Ragnar smiled at her to avail any thoughts she might have that he was unhappy and still planning to allow her to divorce him.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” she said, studying him intensely. “Even if you are changed from your excursion.”

“I am glad to be here too,” he replied.

Ragnar dragged himself to the chamber pot room, finding it warm and moist. Behind a curtain, he found more water and pipes similar to those on the basin. A quick test showed that this was where Lagertha kept her indoor bathing. As on the basin, one handle controlled warmth in the water and the other coolness. Ragnar stripped and stepped under a cool spray, scrubbed at his body with his hands before he realized that the jars lining the wall held various soaps and perfumes. He selected one that reminded him of an open meadow, smearing the viscous liquid all over his body and rinsing it off.

He stepped out and redressed in the same clothes. He knew Lagertha had changed, but these still smelled clean and he did not know where she was keeping the rest of her husband’s clothing.

Bjorn was in the kitchen when Ragnar limped in, pushing the wheelchair before him.

“Are you going out?” Bjorn asked when Ragnar stopped in front of him.

“I am,” he confirmed. “Did you wish to go with me?”

“Depends on where you’re going.” He scooped up a large bite of something, milk dripping off it. He put it all in his mouth and chewed for a few moments before swallowing. “Well? Where are you going?”

“To Northumbria,” Ragnar said. “To see Athelstan.”

Bjorn’s face scrunched up in disgust. “No thanks. I think I’ll pass. Athelstan is…I’m glad he’s your friend, Dad, but he’s weird. Weirder than Floki and that’s saying something.”

Ragnar agreed. As much as he was glad to still have both Floki and Athelstan in this new world, neither of them seemed as he had known them in his world. Athelstan was far more ingrained in his Christianity than Ragnar was used to, and Floki seemed to see through him.

“I will be back shortly,” Ragnar said. He wrapped an arm around Bjorn’s shoulders, surprised when his son let him. He thought Bjorn would still be mad at him.

Outside was warmer than Ragnar was expecting and in the end he was glad he had decided to bring the chair. Northumbria was nearly a straight line from Kattegat but it was a good bit of distance. Of course, nothing like the raids Ragnar was used to, but still, with an injured leg, it was farther than he wanted to walk.

Athelstan was again sitting on the wall, his cross clutched in one hand as he talked to someone Ragnar had only heard stories of.

King Ecbert turned to see who was coming when Athelstan raised his hand in a half-wave.

“Ah, Ragnar,” Ecbert said. “A pleasure. What brings you to Northumbria?”

“I came to see my friend,” Ragnar said, pointedly looking to Athelstan.

Athelstan hopped down from the wall and came to stand by Ragnar’s elbow. “If you don’t need me, sir,” he said, “I think Ragnar and I will go for a short walk.”

Ecbert nodded. “Don’t go far, Athelstan. Your duties await.”

Athelstan did not respond. He grabbed the handles of the chair and turned Ragnar around, pushing him quickly toward the walkway.

“Why did you come back?” Athelstan asked out of the corner of his mouth. “You were lucky last night that Ecbert hadn’t caught you at Northumbria.”

“I cannot visit my friend?” Ragnar asked.

“It’s not that.” Athelstan blew out a breath. “It’s just…there must be bad blood somewhere in yours and his family trees, perhaps ancestors that didn’t get along. He hates you, and you hate him. You tried to make a truce once, and he broke it almost immediately. Ecbert is not to be trusted. You know it, I know it. The only difference is I work for him and you don’t.”

“And why do you work for him? Hmm? Could not you have gainful employment elsewhere? Perhaps at Kattegat?”

Athelstan laughed. “I don’t work at Northumbria. I just live here.” His smile did not reach his eyes. “I tried living in Kattegat shortly after I moved here, but Floki did not appreciate it, said I was ruining the apartments so I moved to Northumbria. I was hired at Ecbert’s firm shortly afterward.” He paused, a curious look upon his face. “Why am I telling you this again?” he asked. “You lived it with me. You gave me advice on how to deal with him when I realized what a mistake it was to start working for him.”

“Come back to Kattegat,” Ragnar said. “Whatever Floki tries, I will stop.”

“I don’t doubt that, and I very much appreciate the offer, but I’m afraid I can’t come between you and Floki. You’ve only just began to repair your friendship with him.”

“And why would we have a falling out?” Floki had said the falling out was between Ragnar and Athelstan. It would not appear that Floki was not being entirely truthful.

Athelstan shrugged. “Who knows what goes on inside Floki’s mind. I’ve spent as much time as I can assuring him that I would not come between you and him only for him to turn on me the moment your back was turned.”

Ragnar closed his mouth on an automatic denial. This Floki was not the same as his Floki no matter the similarities. He was eccentric, perhaps he always would be no matter the Kattegat the gods deigned to drop Ragnar in, but the Floki here seemed suspicious in a way that was unknown to him.

“And of Helga?” he asked.

“Floki’s wife?” Athelstan shook his head. “She went to visit her mother three years ago. Floki I think blames me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I used to work in immigration as a counselor. Helga was from England originally. I had nothing to do with her extended stay at her mother’s.”

“But in Floki’s mind, you do.” Ragnar could understand how Floki came to the conclusion that Athelstan had something to do with his wife’s inability to return to him. He had always thought that Helga and Floki had a codependent relationship. He rarely saw one without the other, and though they were both touched by the gods, Helga was able to rein in Floki’s eccentrics.

“I will speak to him,” Ragnar promised. “For now, I need to see Aslaug.”

Athelstan stopped moving. “No.”

“I need to tell her to leave me alone. That I’m choosing my wife over her. But I can’t do that if I don’t know where she is.”

Athelstan sighed heavily, touching the cross around his neck. “Very well,” he decided, grabbing the chair’s handles again. “But I will stay with you. To ensure that you follow your words.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“You’ve already cheated at least once. I know you, Ragnar. You do not do well with temptation.”

“You intend to help me?”

“Yes. Always. Ragnar, you are my friend. As such, I shall always be here when you need me.”

“Even if Ecbert does not wish you to be?”

“Ecbert can do what he likes. If he takes it out on me, that is my prerogative.”

Ragnar grabbed Athelstan’s hand. “If you need me as I do you, do not hesitate to let me know.”

“I appreciate the offer. Truly, I do. I will let you know if I do need you.”

“Agreed then.” Ragnar leaned back to meet Athelstan’s eyes.

His friend smiled at him. “Agreed.”

~ * ~


	8. Seven

~ * ~

Aslaug lived in a different building, Götaland. This one did not have an elevator, so Ragnar leaned heavily on Athelstan as they made their way to the sixth floor.

“These old buildings are going to be torn down in the next year and a half,” Athelstan told him. “In their place, new apartments will be built. Up to code. Pricey. Likely many of the families that live here will not be able to return. Either they will come to Northumbria or to Kattegat. If they come to Northumbria, they may not be able to afford it anyway.”

He knocked on door nineteen and a woman, one Ragnar was certain he had never seen before in his life, opened it.

“Aslaug,” Athelstan said, a grimace hidden in his smile. “Lovely to see you.”

“Likewise, Athelstan,” she returned. Her smile turned genuine when she looked to Ragnar. “Ragnar, what are you doing here? Weren’t you on a weekend reenactment?”

“He was injured during the first day and had to return home to his wife and child.”

Ragnar hid a smile at the veiled bitterness in Athelstan’s voice. Aslaug heard it too, and her expression turned icy.

“You told me you were leaving her,” she said to Ragnar. “You promised me.”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

“You can’t,” she said, a hand going down to her belly as if he was going to gut her. Maybe he should just to make sure that she left his family alone.

“And why is it that I cannot?” he said.

“Because I am pregnant,” she said. “And it’s yours.”

“Dear Lord,” Athelstan muttered. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” Aslaug’s eyes watered, and she wiped at them carelessly. “I’ve taken three tests just to be sure.” She turned to Ragnar, hand coming out to rest against his. He held still. “You’re the last man I had sex with. I know we used protection, but the condom—it broke. I thought it would be okay. I wasn’t anywhere near my period.”

“Does Lagertha know?” Ragnar asked Athelstan.

“No,” Aslaug answered him. “You are the first person I’ve told. I haven’t even told my mother.” She laughed. “How am I supposed to tell her something like this? I mean, I was the one with my life together. I have a career.” She eyed Ragnar oddly. “I was supposed to have a trophy husband.”

“I have to tell Lagertha,” Ragnar said. “This does not affect my decision. But I will not leave you uncared for.”

“If you stay with Lagertha, I want nothing to do with you.” Aslaug did not seem very resolved, and a stern look from Athelstan had her flushing with shame. “Fine,” she declared. “I’m not going to ever stop trying to get you to leave your wife. Surely you can see that you and I are better together than you and she.”

Ragnar narrowed his eyes at her. If he were in his Kattegat, he knew she would be trying to steal him away because he was a yarl. In this Kattegat, he did not know what she wanted. She had all but admitted that she did not need him.

He had no power here.

Perhaps Lagertha held the power? She was part of the PTA, whatever that was. She lived in Kattegat, an obviously superior dwelling compared to Aslaug’s current home.

Athelstan had said that many of Götaland’s inhabitants would not be able to afford to live here when it was rebuilt. Nor would they be able to live in Northumbria.

Perhaps she wanted to live in Kattegat but could only enter if taken in.

Having his child and causing a divorce between him and his wife would be a good start for her.

“I don’t love you,” he said. “I love Lagertha. I won’t leave her. Not for you.”

“If you don’t, then I will destroy your child.” Ragnar frowned at her. She nodded. “I know how much you want more children. She’s barren, isn’t she? Can’t carry to term. Rumor is she’s had three miscarriages already.”

Ragnar clenched his hand to keep from slamming it against her face. Aslaug smirked at him, and as beautiful as she was, he saw nothing but her ugliness. It made it easy for him to turn to Athelstan.

“Let us go. There is nothing here for us.”

Athelstan looked relieved, and he tucked himself under Ragnar’s arm to help him down the stairs.

As they made their way back to Northumbria, Athelstan murmured prayers while Ragnar thought of the tests endured by those in the gods’ favor. If this was his test, he would pass it. The gods could throw what they liked at him; he would come out of the trial stronger than ever.

Athelstan bid him farewell at the entrance to Northumbria. Ecbert was nowhere to be seen, and Athelstan’s shoulders drooped with relief.

“Let me know how it goes with Lagertha later,” he said, waving as Ragnar wheeled himself onto the walking path.

He thought back over all that had happened in the last few days.

To be injured in battle, with an almost certain death looming over him only to be plucked and dropped into a land that was similar to and yet completely different from his home, to have trial after trial thrown at him…He must have angered all of the gods.

If there was one thing Ragnar had learned though, it was that he was not easily beaten. His last opponent had found that out by Ragnar’s sword in his throat.

If Aslaug thought she could get away with insulting his family, threatening them, then she was just another test to be struck down.

Bolstered by this, he entered the apartment to find Bjorn wrapping bread and meat in clear cloths.

Lagertha was leaning on the counter, putting the wrapped food into a reed basket.

“There you are,” she said. “I thought you might have disappeared but Bjorn said you went to talk to Athelstan.”

“I did,” Ragnar confirmed.

“And how did it go?”

Ragnar looked at the basket, at Lagertha’s open face. He did not want to hurt her quite yet but he knew Aslaug would not be content to wait until he was ready to reveal the child.

It occurred to him that perhaps Aslaug had pretended to be with child to see what he would do, but it was a chance he was not willing to take.

“We spoke with Aslaug,” he said, watching Lagertha closely.

Her eyes dimmed, the light blown out as if he had extinguished a candle.

“Oh,” she said, casting her gaze down to where she was gripping the edge of the basket. “And what did Aslaug say?”

“She claims to be with child.” He drew a line on the table from his hand to hers. “She claims that I am the father.” Inexplicably, he found he could not lift his own gaze from where their fingers were barely brushing. “I am not,” he added quietly.

Lagertha breathed heavily through her nose. “Get out,” she said just as quietly.

“Were you not listening? If she is indeed with child, it is not mine.”

“I don’t care.” She withdrew her hand when she realized his was near. “I’ve had enough of your betrayal.” She rubbed at her eyes, and he realized that she was crying.

He looked from her to Bjorn and back again.

“I understand.” He did not though. His word should have been good enough for her. He cursed the other Ragnar for hurting them this way.

Unbidden, the remembrance of Aslaug’s words against Lagertha come to mind. Would he have been as quick to discard his wife if he truly knew she could bear him no more children?

He wanted to ask Lagertha about it, but he knew that if he tried now, she would never let him back in.

He was not ready to lose her quite yet.

“Very well. If you need me, I shall be staying with Athelstan.”

“Time was, you’d go to Floki,” Lagertha said. “Have you two had another falling out?”

Ragnar shrugged. He had no desire to seek out his friend, if indeed they even were still friends. In this Kattegat, Athelstan had been more helpful to him.

He knew it was probably his fault, or the other Ragnar’s fault, pulling away from Floki, trying not to hurt him with the fact that his wife was stuck in another land while he had two women who wanted to be with him.

“I will talk to him.”

“Now, Ragnar.”

He wanted to tell her that she had given him an order to get out, and he would need help from them finding Floki’s home, but he did not think she would accept his explanation.

He rolled the chair out of the door and to the elevator. Behind him, he heard his son ask if they were still getting a divorce.

He did not hear Lagertha’s response.

~ * ~


	9. Eight

~ * ~

Athelstan groaned when he saw Ragnar coming.

“What now?” he asked, clutching his cross.

“I told Lagertha what Aslaug said.”

“And?”

“She threw me out. I think she is going to divorce me.”

“With good reason,” Athelstan muttered before sighing deeply. “I suppose you’re here because you need a place to stay?”

“Yes.”

Athelstan shook his head but he took hold of the chair’s handles and pushed Ragnar into the building. Where Kattegat’s walls were cluttered with various depictions of lands, some of them farm, most of them mountain, Northumbria’s were clean with few hangings. There was a tapestry of some kind with a man, beaten and bloody, hanging from a cross not unlike the one around Athelstan’s neck.

His friend noticed him staring. “That is Jesus Christ, God’s son.”

“If he is a god’s son, why is he there? Should not he have been revered as is his right?”

Athelstan sighed deeply. “We have had this conversation many times before.”

Ragnar grinned because he was right, in this Kattegat and his own. It was fun to rile the Christians by questioning their treatment of their god.

“He wasn’t accepted as God’s son by all and those are the ones who crucified him.”

They entered an elevator only a little smaller than Kattegat’s, and Athelstan pushed the button for the fourth level.

Ecbert was waiting for them when they exited the tiny room.

“Athelstan,” he said, looking pointedly at Ragnar. “You know you are not allowed guests.”

Athelstan’s face flushed and he nodded unhappily. “It’s just, his wife, she’s thrown him out. He has nowhere else to go.”

Ecbert studied Ragnar, a smile tugging at his lips. “Is that so, Ragnar Lothbrok? Has your wife finally tired of your philandering ways?” He laughed at Ragnar’s confused frown. “You think she doesn’t know of the other women? That Aslaug is only the last in a long line of women who you have no marital relations with and yet know intimately?”

“Ecbert, that’s enough,” Athelstan said. It would have been more effective if he had raised his head and had not mumbled his words.

Ecbert laughed again, the cruel sound twisting something inside Ragnar’s stomach. He felt the truth in that laugh. Aslaug was not the only woman this Ragnar had slept with as a husband should. She was just the one Lagertha had caught.

“He will stay with me and that is final,” Athelstan said with more conviction.

Ecbert nodded slowly, assessing them. “Don’t have sex with this one.” He left with another cruel laugh, this one to cut Athelstan. From the returned and strengthening flush, it had worked.

“It was a woman,” he murmured, pushing Ragnar toward a door with a parchment cross stuck to its surface. “She was married and I was not. It resulted in a child that she passed off as her husband’s. It was Ecbert’s son’s wife.”

Inside the apartment was as sparsely furnished as Athelstan’s hut had been in his Kattegat. It was nice to find another thing that had not changed.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got a couch you can sleep on unless you want the bed?”

Ragnar thought of Athelstan sleeping on the bed, a woman that was not his wife lying beside him, both stinking of sex. He shook his head. “The couch will do.”

“Lunch?” Athelstan stepped into a kitchen smaller than Lagertha’s. Everything in Northumbria was smaller than Kattegat, but it was still nicer than Götaland. He returned with a plate of meat and cheese.

“Sorry, I’m between shopping trips.”

Ragnar bit his tongue on remarking on the necessity of raising one’s own crops. If his own family had decided it was not worth their time, there was no way the Christians had continued with their own farming practices.

He ate the meat and cheese to be polite even though he disliked the taste of it. It wasn’t spoiled by any means, but it tasted of something odd he did not have the words for.

Athelstan spent time in the kitchen running his pipes for a few minutes before he returned with a goblet filled with clear, cold water.

“You’re not from this time, are you?”

Ragnar choked on his water.

“It’s okay. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You have a peculiar way of speaking that feels old. And you called me a Christian. I haven’t been called that since I left my position as a counselor.”

“We are meant to be enemies,” Ragnar said instead of answering Athelstan. “I took you as a slave.”

“And did that include what Ecbert implied would happen between us?”

“No. We became friends, as we are now. Except I do not think we are as close in this Kattegat as we were in my Kattegat.”

“And disease? Did that harm your Kattegat?”

“Yes. My daughter died there just as she did here.”

Athelstan’s head tilted as he studied Ragnar. “We should get you vaccinated while you’re here. That way you can’t die of any common diseases that might be lurking around. In fact, we should have done it when you first arrived.” He paused. “When did you arrive?”

“Just a few days ago. Two at the most.”

“Okay. Well. I’ll call the clinic and schedule something. Do you have any medications that you’re supposed to take for your leg?”

“No, no medicine.” He did not think Lagertha had cared to follow the proper way to have the doctors let him go. She would not have stopped to collect any medicines for him to take. He had not minded as such since he was still alive and had most of his mobility back.

Athelstan shook his head. “How were you even discharged?” Almost immediately, he answered himself with, “Never mind. I don’t want to know. Let’s just get you back.”

Ragnar had no desire to return to the hospital, but he had little choice when Athelstan grabbed the handles again.

“Are you going to pray for me?” he asked as they used to elevator to go to the first level.

“Always,” Athelstan said. “You can ask me as many times as you like, but I will not stop. Not as long as I draw breath.”

“And your faith remains strong,” Ragnar added.

Athelstan ignored him. “Aethelfwulf,” he called to a lumbering man digging in the back of a metal carriage similar to Floki’s. “Aethelwulf, will you lend a hand?”

“And what have we here? My father’s favorite former priest—”

“I was a counselor,” Athelstan interjected.

“And a north-dweller. Why should I lend a hand to either of you?”

“Because I bid you to,” Ecbert said. He stepped around the far side of the carriage and fixed his son with a disappointed glare. “I know you feel you have bad blood between the north-dwellers and Wessex, but we are not in Wessex right now. We are in Northumbria.”

“For heaven’s sake, this isn’t a period drama,” Aethelwulf complained. “Kattegat stands where the second hall of Wessex was supposed to be built. This man here championed it. Why am I supposed to help him now?”

“As I told you, I bid you to.”

Aethelwulf sighed. “Yes, father.” He turned to Athelstan, ignoring Ragnar entirely. “Do you need help?” he asked in a tone that implied anything other than “no” would be ignored.

“No.” Athelstan seemed to agree. “I think we shall be fine.”

He had Ragnar stand and pull himself into the carriage while he managed to collapse the wheelchair so that he could store it behind the low bench Ragnar sat on. Then, he hauled himself into the carriage and nodded to Aethelwulf behind the wheel.

“You do not require horses here,” Ragnar remarked quietly to Athelstan. He did not wish for their driver to overhear him, certain that though Ecbert was a minimally trusted ally—Athelstan’s words from earlier came to mind, but he dismissed them for now—his son was never to be given even that chance. He would just as soon run Ragnar through than help unless ordered by his father.

It was a mutual feeling.

~ * ~


	10. Nine

~ * ~

“It is impractical to travel by horse,” Athelstan said sometime later, when they were neither at Northumbria nor at the hospital. “The distances are too far.”

He settled more firmly into his seat and twisted his hands around his cross. It occurred to Ragnar that perhaps Athelstan was unfavorable to travel. He recalled the first time he had taken him in the boats. Athelstan had been ill for much of the journey, only rousing when the shout of “Land!” had taken up.

There was nothing to do for him now, as there had been nothing to do then. Athelstan seemed all right when they stopped at the hospital and he opened the wheelchair.

“I can move myself about,” Ragnar told him as he pushed him into the building.

“I know,” Athelstan said. “It’s just…you’ve not been my friend for such a long time that I missed it. If you like, I won’t push you about anymore.”

“It is nice,” Ragnar decided. “I do not like being helpless.”

“There you are!” the Scotland nurse from yesterday shouted, pointing at them. “You were not supposed to leave yesterday.”

“We know and we are sorry.” Athelstan placed a hand on her sleeve, calming her if confounding her at the same time. “Do you happen to have the full spectrum of vaccinations for an adult?”

She eyed him oddly before looking to Ragnar as if he were an abnormality. “Do you need your vaccinations, Mr. Lothbrok?”

“Yes,” Athelstan replied, and she turned an icy glare on him. Ragnar stifled his snort in his fist. It would not do to have Athelstan feel injured by it.

“I do,” Ragnar said when he had himself under control again. “I somehow missed my vaccinations.”

The assessing stare she gave him made him squirm in the same way that he would in the presence of the seer. Perhaps she was a völva, another kind of seer.

“Very well,” she finally said. “I will have the doctor prepare a full set of vaccinations. I must warn you now that you may feel ill afterward. This is normal. If, however, you develop a fever greater than 39 degrees, return immediately.” She paused, lips pursed as if to whistle, and then added, “That is if the doctor lets you leave again.”

She led them to a private room and handed a fresh garment to Ragnar.

“You can stay until the doctor comes,” she told Athelstan. “Make sure he changes and is on the bed before then.”

She left, closing the door behind her.

“I can dress myself.” Ragnar stood up and limped into the chamber pot room. It was a little difficult to balance and remove his britches, but he managed. The garment was similar in constitution to the clothing he had woken up in after he had first arrived, and he did not care for the way this one gaped at the back.

It was not that he minded nudity. He minded wearing little clothes when it was still cold in the room.

When Ragnar left the chamber pot room, he noticed that Athelstan had pulled the covers off the bed.

“It’s not ideal, I know,” he said, “but it’s better than you catching ill and dying.”

“I may die anyway just for spite.” Ragnar climbed onto the bed and let Athelstan tuck the covers around him. “Tell me how we met in this Kattegat.”

“It was before I’d left my job as counselor. I was new to this country—we’re in Denmark, if that means anything to you. My position was to help reunite and counsel families that had become separated during the screening process.”

“Like Helga and Floki.”

“Yes, except Helga is kept away by another country. Anyway, you came to see me because your extended family was coming to visit—your mother-in-law, I believe—and had been detained. I helped you sort the paperwork and you thanked me by inviting me to Christmas dinner.”

Ragnar snorted. “I do not celebrate Christ-anything.”

“I know you don’t. I declined your invitation anyway because I was involved in your case and I didn’t want the idea of favoritism to haunt either of us. A few months later, when your mother-in-law returned to her home country and I had no more ties to you, you invited me out again, and I agreed.” His fingers played across the beads on his cross, and then he lifted it off and set it aside. “Tell me how we met in your Kattegat.”

“I already told you; I took you as a slave.”

“Yes, but what was my profession? How could you take me?”

“I led a raid to Northumbria, to a church. You were employed as a monk.” Ragnar waved a hand at Athelstan’s full head of hair. “When I first saw you, you were bald. Shaved as if that would give your god better access to your thoughts.”

“It’s meant to make us pious, to show us that vanity is unnecessary and has no place in a house of God.”

“And yet your houses of god are decorated in extravagance.”

“That is true, yes.”

“It was why I led so many raids to the territories where I found you. Riches beyond my imagination and all to praise one god who wasn’t even a true god.”

“My God is true to me. I don’t knock your gods. I let you have your own thoughts.”

“That is true.” Ragnar inclined his head. “Very well. I am sorry that I called your god false.”

“Apology accepted, as always.”

Ragnar smiled. “I am glad, as mean as it seems, that you and I have not changed much from what I am used to.”

“I should hope so,” Athelstan said. “To think that you’ve come from the past. How is that even possible? I should very much like to know how you accomplished that feat.”

“If the gods had a hand in it, yours certainly did not.”

“I would agree with that. My God is less concerned with time travel and more concerned with teaching us to be good.”

“You are good,” Ragnar insisted. “Why do you need a singular god to teach you that? The gods that matter let you be as intended and favor you only when they need something.”

“So your relationship with your higher powers deigns you to be more favored than me who prays to my God nightly?”

“I am here in a place I should not be. That is favored, is it not?”

A knock on the door kept Athelstan from responding, and Ragnar was not certain he was glad to see him leave the room when the doctor entered.

“So, I’ve been told you want to be vaccinated,” the man, silver haired in a way that was nearly unusual to see in the villages that Ragnar had lived in. Here, he would not be surprised to find that old age was not as deadly as he was used to it being.

“I will need vaccinations against diseases,” he said to the doctor. “I seemed to have missed mine earlier.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll have a nurse come in and administer the first doses. We do have to wait between some of them. Now, for your leg. Let’s have a look at that.” He noted the wheelchair shoved in a corner. “Have you been staying off it?”

“Yes. As much as I am able.” He did not think the doctor would appreciate Ragnar standing up to urinate into the chamber pot nor how often he walked to and from destinations. Truthfully, Ragnar was unsettled in the chair and did not like the way Athelstan kept moving him about as if he had as much right as one of the gods.

“That’s good.” The doctor grabbed his leg, unwrapping the binding. He clicked his tongue at what he saw. “Did you shower with this on and unprotected?”

“Yes, I did bathe.”

“You should have wrapped it in plastic.” The doctor shook his head. 

“And where would I have gotten that?”

The doctor eyed him strangely. “From your kitchen,” he said.

“Of course.” Ragnar watched as the doctor selected something from a cupboard. He approached him again, holding it out to him.

“This is a local analgesic that will help numb the area.”

He pointed to another thing on the counter behind him. “That is the cleaning solution, an iodine flush. Once you’re numb, I’ll apply that. I want you to keep your bandages dry from now on. If you need plastic wrap, you can buy some at the market store.”

“Yes,” Ragnar said because the doctor looked like he expected a response.

“Okay. Ready?” He didn’t wait for answer this time, instead using a small knife to make an incision above the swollen wound of his leg. Discoloured liquid rushed out. The doctor grunted as he pressed on the wound, extracting more infection.

Finally, when the blood ran clear, he poured the iodine onto the wound, and even though he had been numbed, Ragnar still gritted his teeth against the growing pain.

“There. All done.” The doctor stepped back, stripping off his gloves and putting on a fresh pair. He re-wrapped Ragnar’s leg.

“Do I have to stay here now?”

“I’d prefer it, but if you must leave, I can bring you some release forms.”

“That would be amendable.” Ragnar waved him away. “My friend can come back in now.”

The doctor nodded, leaving the door cracked open. A few minutes later, Athelstan pushed it all the way open, stepping through, and shutting it behind himself.

“Ready to go?”

“Almost. The doctor said he needed to bring forms before I could leave.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about that part. I don’t spend much time in the hospital myself. And my job necessitates that I don’t accompany my clients when they have medical procedures done.”

“And why not? Would not it be helpful to have a counselor with them?”

“Yeah, but a lot of the time, my clients are female, and by law they have to be accompanied by a counselor of the same sex.”

“I see,” Ragnar said even though he did not. He thought that Athelstan could do what he had done for him: accompany him and then remain outside of the room during the procedure.

“Well. How long do you think it will take? Fifteen minutes? An hour?”

“Why would I know?” Ragnar frowned at Athelstan. “I did not have to sign a form previously.”

“No?” Athelstan looked confused for a moment before placing a hand over his face. “Lagertha,” he moaned under his breath. “Why?”

“Perhaps it took too long,” Ragnar suggested. The look Athelstan shot him spoke to how much he did not believe that. Ragnar shrugged. It was not of his concern. All he knew was that he had not been the one that needed to sign the form.

There was a knock on the door, and then the doctor poked his head back in. “This paperwork says that you are agreeing to be discharged against medical advice. Sign by the x and turn it in to the reception desk. I’ll get you a script for some antibiotics so please wait for that.”

“Wonderful. Yes. Thank you.” Athelstan took the form from the doctor, bringing it back to Ragnar. “We’ll do that.”

As soon as the doctor closed the door again, Athelstan took his writing tool and scribbled something.

“That’s your name,” he told Ragnar. “I am correct in assuming that you don’t know how to write your name?”

“I can write it.” Ragnar glared at him before breaking down into a grin. “But not in this language. Only in the language of my people.”

“I forgot about the vaccinations!” Athelstan hit his forehead again. “Do you want to do those before you leave today too?”

Ragnar shrugged. Honestly, he did not care either way. His leg was still hurting from the doctor’s ministrations, but he also knew he had nowhere to go. He was stuck with Athelstan, and if Athelstan did not have anywhere else to be either, then they might as well see about getting the vaccinations today.

“It’s settled then,” Athelstan said. “You’ll get as many vaccinations as you can, and then we’ll get your prescription filled. Let’s go find the doctor again.”

Ragnar let Athelstan help him get dressed again and sit in the chair. He could see the point in having his friend help him now when his leg was too sore to support his weight. He held the paper loosely while Athelstan steered him down the hallway. They found the reception desk easily.

“Hi, we’re looking for the doctor on duty today. We forgot to schedule some vaccinations.”

“Of course. Name and birth date, please?”

Athelstan rattled them off while Ragnar studied his hands. He would need to memorize the information and the way that Athelstan had signed his name if he was to come to this hospital by himself. He did not think he could badger the nurses into writing “unknown” every time.

“And what vaccinations are you needing today?”

“All of them,” Athelstan said.

“Some need time between,” Ragnar remembered, “so as many as possible.”

The woman looked as if he had reached out and smacked her. It was not a good look for her.

“Ragnar Lothbrok,” a woman shouted, “have you no shame? Leaving us again so soon?”

Ragnar turned as best he could in the chair and grinned at the Scotland nurse stomping toward them. “Scotland,” he called back. “I did not see you before I left yesterday so you could not tell me what I was doing wrong. Today I am leaving the proper way.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, but he could see the amusement in her eyes. She was happy to see him. What an odd occurrence. She probably was a völva after all.

Athelstan shook his head, muttering, “Only you, Ragnar.”

“So, I hear you didn’t need that surgery after all. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Wonderful,” Ragnar said dryly. Her smile finally spread, and she shook her head even as it grew. “But now I need to complete my vaccinations.”

“Oh? How many?”

“All of them,” the woman behind the desk said. “Apparently, he’s an unvaccinated heathen wandering in our midst.”

“I am not a heathen,” Ragnar snapped. He rose from the chair only for Athelstan to slam a hand onto his shoulder and wrestle him back down.

“She means nothing by it,” he whispered. Louder, he said, “It is an oversight that we are trying to rectify. We would gladly ask you not to judge us.”

“Of course,” the Scotland nurse said. “Have you talked to anyone about getting your shots scheduled?”

“We were just inquiring into the whereabouts of the doctor on duty. He has already examined my friend here, but we forgot to remind him about the vaccinations.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Marie, please pull up the immunization list. I’m sure you’re aware that there is a mandatory waiting period between the first round of HepB and the second round, and that you may even have to have a third round at a later date. For those, the follow up is two months apart.”

“We did know, thank you.”

“Okay. I’ll get you set up in Exam Room Two. Just up the hall here.” To Ragnar, she said, “How are you with needles?”

In answer, Ragnar uncovered his arm, showing her the success of his third raid.

She whistled. “Well then, you should be good to go. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“I can move myself this time,” Ragnar told Athelstan. He used the wheels to move the chair to the room across the hall from the one he had been in earlier. Athelstan followed him slowly.

“I’ve been thinking that living together will not be as bad as predicted. As long as Ecbert leaves us alone and you heal properly—and the vaccinations don’t make you ill at all—then we shall be fine.”

“Your enthusiasm is noted,” Ragnar said.

“If you’re trying to be funny, it’s not working.” Athelstan held the door for Ragnar. “You’re the one who’s going to have to either be stuck with a bunch of needles or drink a bunch of disgusting liquid.”

Ragnar shrugged. “That does not sound so different from my life now.” He pointed at his leg to emphasize his point. Athelstan rolled his eyes at him. “Certainly a few foul liquids and pricks are worth not dying of disease. Surely Gyda should have had the same choices.”

“She didn’t,” Athelstan said, sobered suddenly. “She—her immune system was compromised. She was unable to have her necessary vaccinations. It was why she was vulnerable when the illness swept the villages.”

“And my immune system,” Ragnar asked. “Is it strong enough?”

“I think so?” Athelstan sighed. “The Ragnar I know does not fall ill easily. But…”

“I am not the Ragnar you know.”

“Exactly.”

Ragnar rolled his shoulders. “What will happen will happen.”

“Divine intervention?”

“The gods’ will. If I am to die from the vaccinations, then I will die from them. No amount of begging will stop it.”

“Prayer heals the soul, you’re right. We will trust in our higher powers that you come through okay.”

The Scotland nurse knocked on the door then, barely waiting before shoving into the room, pushing a wheeled table before her.

“Ready?”

“Yeah, sure.” Athelstan, pale, face drawn, stumbled to the chair next to Ragnar. “He’s good to go.”

 “Okay, well. We’ll start small. If you feel like anything’s wrong at any time, just tell me to stop.”

Ragnar did not plan to stop her. He would take all the vaccinations she could give him. He had made his peace. It did not matter if he died. He had nowhere to go. His wife was going to divorce him, his son hated him, he could not live with his friend for the rest of his life, and he was having a baby with a woman the other Ragnar had slept with.

He would consider himself doubly touched by the gods if he did not fall ill.

“Drink this one,” the nurse said after stabbing him at least five times.

Ragnar threw it back like a pull of brew. He grimaced at the taste but he was not going to complain about it.

“Are you done?” Athelstan asked.

“Yeah. That’s all I can safely give him. Come back in a week if he hasn’t developed a fever and we’ll get more of them out of the way. He has to wait at least thirty days between the boosters for HepB.”

“Okay. Will do. Thank you so much.”

Athelstan grabbed the handles of Ragnar’s chair and steered him back to the reception desk. He dropped the paper onto the desk and turned toward the door. “Ready?” He was still pale, but some of the color had returned to his face.

“Ready,” Ragnar said. It was not the vaccinations, he was certain, but he was tired, could feel it seeping into his bones. He let his head fall forward, trusting Athelstan to not lead him astray.

There was no one else here in this Kattegat, not even Lagertha or Floki, that he trusted in the way he did Athelstan.

He should probably be ready for the inevitable betrayal.

~ * ~


	11. Ten

~ * ~

Aethelwulf was waiting with the carriage when they finally left the hospital.

He did not seem any happier to be ferrying them back to Northumbria, but he did not say anything, and the ride was almost pleasant despite the way Athelstan ducked his head into a bag and stayed that way for the journey.

Athelstan pushed the wheelchair into the apartment. Ragnar blinked at him, eyes heavy. He felt feverish too, stomach clenching uncomfortably.

“You don’t look well,” Athelstan observed as he opened a door to pull out sheets. He threw them over the couch and then pressed the back of a hand to Ragnar’s forehead. “You are unwell. Do you want to go back to the hospital?”

Ragnar shook his head. All he wanted to do was lie on the couch and sleep. He expressed this desire to Athelstan, and his friend helped him out of the chair.

Almost as soon as he was prone on the comfortable surface, Athelstan burying him under blanket after blanket, his eyes closed for good, and he drifted off.

A loud crash by his ear woke him minutes later, and he pried his eyes open to stare blearily at the source.

Lagertha was chastising Bjorn, who had dropped one of the cooking pots, no doubt seeking more food.

Ragnar tried to sit up, but his leg sent a fiery shot of pain up his leg while his head swam and his stomach roiled.

“No, no,” Lagertha soothed when she noticed he was awake. “Lie back. The healer said you need rest. Your leg was nearly lost, and it nearly took you with it.”

Ragnar reached for her, hand brushing against the rough fabric he was so used to. “I am back?” he asked, voice cracking as if he had just come out of a fever dream. Perhaps that is all the other Kattegat had been: a dream. “I am here, in Kattegat?”

“Of course you are in Kattegat,” Lagertha said. She shooed Bjorn away. “We would not leave you on the battlefield. Even if you were dead, you would still be brought home so that we could send you off with the proper honors.”

“And you are still my wife?” Ragnar blamed his fever for the looseness of his tongue. Hurt flashed across Lagertha’s face.

“Are you not wanting to be my husband still?”

“Of course I still want to be your husband. I was just wondering if you were still wanting to be my wife.”

“And why would I not want to be your wife?”

“Because of Aslaug.”

“And who is Aslaug, husband?”

“A woman,” Ragnar said. “I do not know who she is.”

“And yet she would come between us?”

Ragnar nodded. “The gods gave me a vision of us, and Aslaug had torn us apart.” He did not say anything about the miscarriages Aslaug had revealed. He did not feel up to the confrontation it would bring. He felt certain that if they survived Aslaug, they would survive the miscarriages too. He did want many children, and he was not certain that he could father them outside of marriage. Yet. If Lagertha lied to him, then he would see about seeking a mistress. If she was honest with him, as he intended to be with her, then he would stay with her.

Bjorn needed his father after all.

Perhaps Ragnar could teach his son how to shoot a basketball while he recovered from his injured leg. It had looked partly like fun and partly of skill. Bjorn of the Kattegat-that-was-a-building had practiced for a long time.

Bjorn of Kattegat-that-was-a-city had the same discipline for the sword.

“Ragnar? Are you all right?”

“I am fine.”

Lagertha did not look like she believed him, and for a moment, he almost missed the Lagertha in the building-Kattegat. They were both similar but this Lagertha, his Lagertha, had lived a harder life in spite of the fact that she had plots where crops could be grown.

There was merit in the things he had seen in the building-Kattegat, and he was beginning to think that he belonged more in that Kattegat than this. What kind of life would he lead as a cripple if his leg did not heal? Surely his rule would be questioned, and his position as a yarl challenged often.

Bjorn burst back into the dwelling, Floki and Athelstan on his heels. Lagertha left them to it, patting Bjorn on the shoulder as she passed him.

“He is himself again,” Bjorn said, breathless from the way he must have run to Athelstan’s hut and then Floki’s home in the forest and back again.

“Ragnar?” Floki asked, turning the same assessing gaze upon him. “Have the gods relinquished their hold on you?”

Ragnar nodded. “It was a journey they sent me on.”

Floki looked delighted. Athelstan said nothing, his fingers playing with the adornment Ragnar had given him to mark him as a sacrifice to the gods. How ironic, then, that Ragnar was the one who had been taken by the gods.

“I saw things that made no sense, and yet the gods showed them to me anyway. Most perplexing was that everyone who is here now was there as well. Affected, as all things were.”

“In what way?” Floki peered at him, studying him with his ship-builders gaze, the one that made him a tactical advantage in raids.

Athelstan stepped back. “Perhaps we should let him rest,” he murmured. “Surely the journey was taxing even if the gods were favorable?”

Floki turned on him, raising a hand as if to strike him.

“Hold,” Ragnar ordered him. “Athelstan is correct that I am in need of rest. I will speak more on what I saw, what the gods revealed to me, later, once my leg has had time to heal. For now, I require my son. It was wonderful to see you both, my friends. I look forward to seeing you later.”

Athelstan bowed and left, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder at Ragnar. He knew then that his friend was going to speak with his god about him. It would be amusing to tell him that he was still deeply religious in building-Kattegat.

Floki frowned at Ragnar. “Are you certain you are all right now? Earlier, you were spouting nonsense. Something about buildings large enough to house entire villages.”

“I will explain later,” Ragnar promised.

Floki nodded sharply. “It is good to have you back, my friend.” He left too.

Ragnar beckoned Bjorn closer, and his son lay down on the furs with him.

“You are still feverish, father.”

“Of course. My leg is still injured.”

“What did you want from me?”

“I just wanted to be able to see you, feel you. Where I was, you did not like me. I did not get to see you much.”

Bjorn smiled. “I could never hate you, father. Do not be ridiculous.”

“Nevertheless, it was true there. I do not wish to lose your favor again.”

Bjorn moved closer, head on Ragnar’s shoulder as he had not done since he was very young.

“You won’t,” he promised.

The gods may have tested him, but Ragnar knew he had come through just fine. His son and wife were still his. It remained to be seen whether Floki was unhappy with Athelstan, and whether Athelstan could be convinced to renounce his false god.

But all was right with this Kattegat, and here was where Ragnar truly belonged. He was blessed by the gods.

“My son,” he said, “let me tell you about basketball.”

 

~ The End ~


End file.
